Sunday Morning

Sunday morning, mother's calling

Wear a dress but not that short thing

Someone's creeping, father's preaching

Teach your children how to please him

Fill my lungs with holy water, where you'll claim me as your daughter

Shoe box empty, make-up's handy

So much for the happy family

Someone's creeping, father's preaching

Teach your children how to please him

Fill my lungs with holy water, where you'll claim me as your daughter

Fill my lungs with holy water, where you'll claim me as your daughter

I've lived a thousand Sunday mornings

I've read the verses, heard the warnings

I swear, I'm not the antichrist

But something 'bout it don't feel right

So when it gets to Sunday morning

I'll take an extra glass for more

When they're pouring out the blood of Christ

Maybe then I'll see the light

Fill my lungs with holy water, where you'll claim me as your daughter

Fill my lungs with holy water, where you'll claim me as your daughter